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She nods at Mr. Brian, who’s writing at his desk and doesn’t look up. I experience a cold shudder when I see my history teacher sitting at the desk. He’s a few years younger but no less intense. I try to suppress the memory of his death and not let it affect me.
Charles sits at another large desk looking frightful. He’s unshaven, his hair unkempt, his skin pale, and his eyes dull. What is this? A vision?
“A memory,” I hear a voice say. I flinch and look around, but I quickly realize that no one in the room has spoken. The voice is in my head, but it’s not mine.
“They’re my memories. As humans, we can bring them to this world and save them for later. For ourselves or our descendants. Only people who deposited memories here or people they invite have access to this place.”
“That’s why the fallen couldn’t follow us,” I mutter.
“It’s important for you to see all this. Then you’ll understand. This is why I brought you here. Many Noctu before me have entered this place and used it to preserve important memories for their descendants. I’ve granted you access to mine. You need to see them. You need to see this one.”
I’m ready. No matter what comes.
“I left clues in my house for my descendants too. I’m glad you followed them. I’ve been keeping an eye on you all this time, as much as I could. You’ve done so well.”
I’m grateful for her words. I watch Frida turn to Charles and acknowledge him with a nod. “Charles,” she says. But as soon as their eyes meet, he flinches and lowers his head.
“At the time, I figured that was guilt over Patty’s death. Because I never told him that I saved her life. I couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t go to her and finish her off. He was like a hunted animal, afraid and on edge all the time. He distanced himself from me and never looked at me in the same way again. I only realized later that it was because of Arthur. He was blackmailing Charles.”
I nod. “Mr. Brian saw Charles kill Patty. He believed she was dead too.”
Arthur looks up, puts down his pen, and folds his hands. He pauses for effect, obviously trying to unsettle Frida, but she seems unfazed.
“Here’s the report you asked me to write.” She hands him a thin folder.
Arthur takes it, opens it, and begins to read it. After a few seconds, he throws the document down on his desk and leans back in his chair. “Are you serious?”
Frida raises her eyebrows.
“Frida, you made a grave mistake by killing Patty. You’re a danger to us all, and if you ask me, it’s only a matter of time before you fly off the handle again. I could have dismissed you from the hunters’ ranks. Instead, you were given a second chance. It’s my job to monitor you and keep you on the straight and narrow. Do you really think the Council would accept such a sloppily researched report? This shows that you’re still not taking your responsibilities seriously and that you don’t care about your work. This is unacceptable. You need to put in more effort. Do it again.”
Frida’s eyes widen in surprise. “Again? This took me almost three months. I staked out Louisa Morris for days, traced her every step, checked out her circle of friends and acquaintances. I don’t see what I did wrong …”
Mr. Brian holds up his hand. “You’re actually arguing with me about this? Do you want me to go to the Council and tell them that you’re refusing to follow instructions? You can imagine how that would go down.”
They stare at each other, and Mr. Brian’s eyes drill into Frida – merciless, inescapable.
“But hey, let’s get a second opinion.”
He turns to Charles, who pales even more. Mr. Brian throws him the file, and Charles opens it, but he doesn’t give him a chance to read one page.
“So, what do think?” Mr. Brian asks. “Has Frida done a good job?”
Charles slowly shakes his head. He doesn’t dare look her in the eye. “It’s like you say – really sloppy work. She needs to start again.”
“There, you see?” Mr. Brian smirks contemptuously. “And so that you’ll try harder this time, I’m giving you a tighter deadline. Maybe that will motivate you. You have three weeks.” He returns his attention to his work, apparently having said all he wants to say.
Frida just stands there opening and closing her mouth, unable to articulate a single word.
“Is there anything else?” he asks.
“I couldn’t afford to make him angry,” I hear Frida’s voice say in my head. “He was my superior, and he had me over a barrel. That was a really difficult time for me.” The scene slowly fades, and I’m back in the space with all the memories.
Frida is sitting in front of me in her fallen form. The expression in her eyes speaks volumes. She stands up, walks a few steps, and looks up at another bubble floating above her. I know what to do. I reach for it and peer inside. Again, part of my mind sinks into it until I’m completely inside the scene.
“I don’t understand,” Frida says quietly.
It’s dark, but the filth and the stench are inescapable. The grimy alley is full of trash moldering in scummy puddles. Even the houses look derelict and abandoned.
